


Carpe Diem

by daaarkknight (orphan_account)



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Dirty Talk, M/M, Smut, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22529350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/daaarkknight
Summary: Bruce gets de-aged. Bruce and Dick get it on.Bruce has a crisis of conscience while Dick basks in afterglow.Batman and Robin forever!
Relationships: Bruce Wayne/Dick Grayson
Comments: 7
Kudos: 150
Collections: Batman, Batman/Robin (Bruce/Dick), BatmanFanfiction, Favorite Batman Fics, batman orignal characters





	Carpe Diem

**Author's Note:**

> I do not condone underage sex in any of its forms. Also, the de-aging thing is not a pretext. It is purely kink.

“Oh Jesus. Bruce.”

“Relax. It’s not the worst thing that has happened to me.”

Circe is chuckling. Her wild hair glows with an inner firelight. Dick looks on powerlessly as her spell on Bruce takes full effect—as Bruce’s nose and mouth and cheek curve and change—and what is he going to change into? Dog? Pig? Some combination of the two?

Bat?

“Surely a mortal of your caliber,” Circe says, her voice a salacious lilt, “is worthy of the amusement of the Gods.”

“Fuck you!” screams Dick, lunging at her. No sooner has he lunged than he finds himself turning into mist—pink, pale, the color of coral and seashell.

“No!” Bruce shouts. His voice, his bold, strong, full voice—is now turning into a priggish parody of itself, as his body molds itself into a different form. As eyes-nose-mouth shift and turn in front of the gilt mirror that Circe holds to his face. His chest seems to shrink—smaller, less jutting, more…

Dick tumbles out the other side of the mist. His face and neck are tingling. Circe laughs.

“Almost done,” she croons. Her nose shines with unearthly radiance. Her hair floats behind her in an ambrosia cloud. “Usually I deal in animals…but let us see what the gods make of this Adonis.”

Dick looks at Bruce. He does a double take.

In place of Bruce there is…Bruce. Younger. But _Jesus_. Is this what Bruce looked like? Before his skin was beaten in with countless storms and burnished into rough leather, bristly chin, handsome still, but before all the stoicism had carved his face into granite? This Bruce is ruddy of cheek, delicate of pulse…a faint flush lies between his eyebrows and on the pale of his throat. His chin is as smooth as a newborn’s.

Dick swallows. From the corner of his eye, he sees Circe looking at Bruce, with a very pale face.

“Is this the best my mirror has to offer?” she finally says. “I asked you to make him the most glorious of all youth—and this is what you give me? His own pale earlier form?” she shrieks at the inlaid golden mirror. The shimmering face of it gives no answer.

“What do you want from us?” Bruce asks. _He_ evidently has not lost his gravitas, even if he blushes deeply as he speaks. His cape still falls around him, his suit still sticks to him, but Dick knows that is because it has been programmed to shrink to accommodate whatever size it encases. He has lost a good four inches.

Circe looks at him, forgetting he was there.

“Get lost,” she rasps. “ _Get lost get lost get lost!_ ” Her face changes, her teeth erupting into a vicious snarl. Batman and Robin beat a hasty retreat while the angry goddess talks to her mirror.

“What do you think that was about?” Robin asks.

“She just lost a bet.” Bruce checks his police scanner.

“Hey, aren’t you worried, you know? About what she did to you?”

“No,” says Bruce. “It will wear off. The closer it is to my real form the longer it will take, of course, but I should give it about a week or so. Provided I keep out of her way.”

“Oh. And how do we accomplish that? Given she knows your secret identity and all that?”

“Gods, I have found,” says Bruce, didactic, “do not give two hoots for secret identities—or revealing them. If she showed up at the Manor, she may find, to her surprise, that the layer of protective spells guarding it may reduce her to something less than a goddess.”

And so Batman and Robin stride off into the night, but if any of the crooks that take the beatdown that night notice that Batman is a few inches shorter, or that he and his sidekick pretty much line up, they do not have the chance to express it.

It is when they return to the Cave that night, that something between them changes.

It’s not that Dick hasn’t seen Bruce naked before. It’s not like Bruce hasn’t seen Dick naked before, either. In fact, several…pretty hardcore training exercises have involved being naked, just to “acclimatize”. There was the freezing-his-naked-tits-off-in-the-iced-up-swimming-pool one. Also the Houdini one, the naked version.

“Your nude form,” Bruce had told Dick, when he was ten, “should be no source of discomfort to you. Let the enemy think he has you on a downside once he strips you. Let him think you are humiliated. Let him think you feel it. Cower, show embarrassment. But feel none.”

But his was something different. When time comes to shower, Bruce doesn’t strip.

And for the first time in his life, Dick realizes Batman is feeling _shy_.

So he grins.

“Race you to the shower!” And shouting, he races for the locker rooms, and peeling off his sticky suit, he plunges head first into the showers.

Bruce doesn’t come.

“Bruce?” Dick calls.

When he scrubs himself and heads out, he finds Bruce sitting on top of one of the disused consoles like a teenager, his feet dangling, his eyes far away.

“I’m sorry, Dick,” he says.

“What for man?”

“For…letting you down.”

Bruce squeezes his empty fist. A muscle in the side of his jaw jumps. Dick hops up onto the monitors beside him.

“Hey” he says gently. He wraps his mentor in his arms. Bruce, going stiff at first, slowly lets Dick smooth his hair back, lets him comb and cuddle, put his head on Bruce’s heart.

“It’s been a long day,” says Dick. “How about we curl up and watch a movie? Yeah?”

Dick leads Bruce upstairs. He waits outside Bruce’s bedroom while the man takes a shower, and then comes out in a pair of old gray slacks.

“How do these look?” Bruce asks incongruously.

Dick nods, his throat too stiff to speak.

Alfred brings them popcorn, and then stays at Dick’s insistence. They watch Days of Heaven, letting the swimmy visuals flow over them. By the end, Dick has snuggled so close to Bruce any closer and he would practically be sitting in the older man’s lap.

When the credits roll, Dick yawns, stretching his arms over his head.

“Well.”

Bruce still looks dazed.

“Hey. Earth to Batsy,” Dick snaps his fingers in front of Bruce’s face.

Bruce snaps out of it. But Dick still examines him, puzzling over it. It's not like Bruce to just... _drift_. 

It is when Dick tucks himself into bed that he feels the genuine sense of loneliness that he has come to associate with his empty bed, and his pillows. It feels like being moored in an ancient desert, and watching the sands sprawl before you.

It’s eight in the morning, two hours after he got into bed, that Dick finally gives up the fight and goes outside into the corridor, there to roam like an old ghost. The carpet feels lush under his feet, and the old portraits of the house examine him with disinterest. Sometimes Dick feels like they’re laughing at him, somewhere under their solemn faces and upturned noses.

He knocks on Bruce’s door, and then turns the handle.

It’s open.

Dick cautiously enters. The still figure lying under the sheets seems to be stationary enough to be asleep. Dick tiptoes forward.

And that is when he sees it. Something he isn’t meant to see.

Bruce is masturbating.

His one hand is clenched in the sheets, his other hand furiously working under his blanket. His mouth is thrown open.

Dick approaches cautiously, his footfalls muffled by the carpet of the bedroom. But of course.

Bruce opens his eyes.

And then, his eyes meet Dick’s.

In the dullish light peeping in from the door, Dick can see Bruce’s face, loud and clear. It looks…composed.

And then, Bruce silently throws back his blankets.

Dick climbs in. Into his mentor’s bed, with Bruce’s arms wrapped around his chest. It should probably take more soul searching on his part, more...inner struggle. It should feel unreal, like something that only happened in one of his jack-off fantasies. But it feels just right--like slipping into a pair of socks expressly made for you, cinched for _you._

Dick feels alive. He kicks off his shorts, and snuggles deeper, closer into Bruce’s warm, stiff body. Bruce's _naked_ body. Oh god--how much he's wanted this, how many times he's just been this close to reaching out and grabbing Bruce. And now to _have_ Bruce, right where he's wanted him all along--and Bruce smells of darkness and cinnamon: it’s a lightheaded smell, intoxicating in its richness and purity, like good wine. Dick brushes back against Bruce, just the slightest nudge. Fireworks crackles through him, as he pushes into Bruce's compact, wiry frame--not the hard cords of muscle, the jutting folds of tricep and bicep, but smooth as a marble statue. He is absolutely still; Dick can feel Bruce’s cock twitching against his asshole, the slickness of it. It sends a shiver through his frame, like nothing before. His own cock has started leaking, pre-come dribbling out, and shit--he's just so turned on, and his body is reacting like it's being fucked already. _S_ _hit_ he's going to pieces. 

He turns over. Bruce's body is like an anchor for Dick--someplace to return to after a hard day. The place to hold you still. Bruce reaches out, and kisses Dick. Actually kisses him, on the cheek. It's not a fatherly kiss. It's a long, beautiful kiss, exploring Dick's body, taking his time. Dick groans, and pushes himself into the man who is currently holding him hostage with his gentleness, with his _slowness._ _C'mon,_ he wants to say. _T_ _ake. Take everything, what are you waiting for, do it._ But Bruce's mmmmms and ahhhs melt Dick to the bone. Bruce is, slowly, leaving a nice long trail, warm, chapped lips from his navel to his nipples, just tracing, mapping. Dick groans, and Bruce travels higher, kissing, skimming his lips over Dick's body, like he can't get enough of it, pressing his face into Dick's jawbone, Dick's neck, Dick's lips--

" _Ummmph,"_ Dick moans, as Bruce sucks a hickey into his neck. It's dizzying, and sweet, and almost -too intense...He pulls Bruce up. The clash of their mouths, their teeth fierce against each other, the wrap of their tongues, the slide, gentle lapping, and Bruce's tongue in his mouth, tasting of sherry and cigarettes...it doesn't help Dick's cock situation. Neither does Bruce quietly wrapping his hand around Dick and fisting him, Bruce's soft, fleshy palm melting into the salt of Dick's thick, dribbling shaft. 

Dick happens to know where Bruce keeps his Vaseline in the side drawer. He reaches out in the dark, while they're kissing, and fumbles among the bedside things. Bruce breaks the kiss and switches on the light.

“What are you looking for?” he rumbles.

Dick is too shy to say “lube”, so he turns and just keeps looking instead, among the clutter of Bruce’s things: his keys, his chargers, the odd can of aftershave…god he’s messy.

Finally he gets a hold of a tube. Opening it, he takes out a drop and applies it to himself--but his fingers--they're trembling, and--

"Let me." Bruce says, taking it from Dick's hand. He takes one dollop on two fingers, and sliding his hand behind Dick, expertly circles Dick's tightly clenched hole, one light stroke, then two, just gentle feathery touches, and Dick's skin feels like all it's nerve endings have conglomerated in that one place, right under Bruce's fingetips, and Dick closes his eyes...and that's when Bruce decides to push inside his hole. 

His fingers feel thick and big, and too broad...like a slow, steady expanding of his nerve endings. It feels too full. Not exactly pain, but not pleasure...just a steady filling, a presence, like all his internal organs are being rearranged--Dick screams, and he doesn't even care if Alfred hears--let him hear!...the door is open, and he is panting, roughly, sweat dripping off his jaw, his breath getting sharper and sharper as Bruce pushes in...ever deeper...and Dick draws in air in lungfulls, cold, full air, panting, his ass shuddering. 

Dick's cock dribbles out come, as he leans forward and lets Bruce explode his ass with his bare hands. And Bruce leans over, kissing, licking, murmuring sweet soft nothings, but the roar of blood in Dick's ears drowns it all out, and all he can hear is _darling, my darling, Robin, my robin..._

Dick finds there are more things in heaven and on Earth than he could ever imagine...and his father's fingers up his arse? 

That just tops the list.

* * *

"Oh god. Oh fuck. Bruce. Give it to me."

"No." 

Dick is ass up, pushing into Bruce, his ass slick from readiness, eagerness. _Take me_ , it's begging, _take me and I'll be good..._

" _Pleeeaaase._ I'll be good. I'll be _so_ good, you won't Believe. Just... _God_..."

"Bruce will do." and Bruce, gently squeezing his hard-as-nails, dribbling cock, slowly pushes inside Dick's swollen hole. Dick moans, and thrusts into the blanket, heavy rough friction, and squirm, because _Bruce_ is inside him, slipping into him inch by excruciating inch, and his ass feels like it can't take any more, it's so full, it's gonna burst any second now...but then... _oh. God sweet motherfucking Jesus_ "Yes yes yes jesus yes right there!" because Bruce has just hit his gland and it seems to burn and explode with nerve endings all of a sudden. And Bruce holds him down, clamping down on his arms with his hands, so hard, he's probably leaving marks...and Dick's erection just seems to get bigger, and heavier, and filthier...and a bead of pre-come shines on the pink tip, as Bruce hitches Dick's ass up and starts thrusting like Dick's ass was made just for his cock , just for his fucking cock, and his breath hisses out between his teeth. Dick screams and chokes with the _deepness_. Bruce takes this to mean Dick is in pain, so he lets go and starts to pull out.

"No." Dick holds on to Bruce's hand, pulling him

"I don't want to hurt you, Dick." Bruce licks his lips. His eyes are a blaze of ice as he sweeps them over Dick, examining his scars, his young, supple body. He bends over Dick's arms, checking the soft skin, the delicate veins. Dick feels like his veins are edged with fire, he finds it hard to believe they are blue, and thriving under his skin with feverish haste... He wants to push..wants to crawl in, and under Bruce, so warm, so warm...

So he pushes his head forward and crashes into Bruce's chest. It feels like crashing into warm brick, or warm iron. He experimentally licks Bruce’s hairless chest. He didn't know what he expected it to taste like, but it’s nothing like he's ever experienced. The salt of it melts into his tongue, and that's when he knows he won't be happy until he has licked Bruce all over his body, all chest, all veins, melted into him, until Bruce has taken him forwards, backwards, upside-down--every which way Dick can think of, and Dick can be _very_ creative.

So he leverages his weight and flips Bruce over his head. Bruce hisses like a snake as Dick lands on top of him, like the man is in pain, but Dick noticed the quickening pulse in his throat, the hungry widening of his eyes, the way he urgently pushes into Dick, ever so slightly...

Madness, he mutters, but Dick shuts him up with a kiss, vermilion petals pressing into pale sandpaper... And Dick mounts Bruce, inch by excruciating inch, and wasn't this interesting, how the pain bleeds into a sharp zing of pleasure, a spire of sheer spilling orgasm, building, burning through his spine to his kidneys...he could burst with how FULL he is, the obscene _connection_ between him and Bruce, and Bruce looks at Dick nothing of him held back on his face, his eyes burning, his mouth working, his teeth clamped down on his lips to keep the scream down...because this must be feeling as tight a fit to Bruce as he's ever worn, Dick's ass clamping around him with sharp heat, clenching around his length..."You like tearing my ass with that big fat cock of yours, huh big boy?" Dick exhales 

Bruce moans. "Fuck yes, God..." except this last word is more of an incoherent choking exhale. 

Dick takes this as encouragement and slides down the whole length of his cock. Bruce's sharp inhale of breath, his thigh bones, his now adolescent-pubes with their delicate sprinkling of dusky hair, it feels _so_ good, so _fucking_ good....the need in Bruce's arch, his urgent scrambling for Dick's ass...his pressing his fingers into Dick's ass, kneading into it with his firm, uncallused hands, and Dick going up down up slowly so-slowly (it feels so goddamn _big_ ) and Dick's cock slaps against Bruce's abdomen, a fleshy sound, leaving a hot, sticky trail of pre-come, and Bruce, he-- _God_ \--he reaches down into the pool and takes up some of it on his fingers and wets them nice and good, and then pushes his fingers down Dick's mouth, forcing his fingers around Dick's tongue...Dick rides Bruce roughly now, his ass tight, his cock rock hard, his hands grabbing reaching snatching, getting purchase wherever he can, his bones shivering as he goes faster, faster, and Bruce lets out a growl and grips Dick's hips and holds him just the way he wants him as he drives into him, the growl never far from his lips..., sliding into him slowly at first, then rough and whip-sharp, fucking him deeper, harder until together, they come as one.

One fucking stream gushes as two, as Bruce groans and pulses into Dick, one hot stream, and Dick comes, without a hand on him, panting, trembling, soiling Bruce's chest and his own with his thick milk.

"Jesus." Dick grunts, and falls forward into his own mess--almost. Bruce holds him up and looks into his face, then tucks him into the crook of his arm, next to his heart.

They're still for a few minutes. Dick's bones are liquid, his ass soft and sore as hell, but right now all he cares for is to cuddle with Bruce, mess or no mess. He notices that Bruce has the same slack-jawed, awed look he had always associated with French pornstars. _Huh, so that's real_ passes through his head. But he feels so exhausted that he just collapses into his own wetness, cum dribbling out of his ass, his wet ass, which Bruce gently cradles with his own hand, rubbing soothing warm tingly circles into the clench of Dick's hole with the pad of his thumb. 

"Dick," he says. His voice is like sponge, absorbent. Right now it's full. 

"Yeah?"

"Was that good?"

Dick raises his head. "Are you kidding me? That was the best I've ever had in my life."

"Best...anal?"

"Yeah Bruce, anal, because I've had so much of it. Can't you tell?"

Bruce falls quiet. Dick scrambles over the side of the bed, leaning over Bruce to find his shorts. He has a feeling they're just about to have a very uncomfortable conversation. He'd like to be clothed for it, thank you. 

“Dick,” Bruce says, when he has finally collected his voice. “You know I love you. But you know we can’t _ever_ do this again.”

Dick knew this was coming. Of course. But it still hurts.

It hurts like hell.

“Come here,” says Bruce, opening his arms and patting the space beside him. “Scoot closer.”

When Dick is ensconced in Bruce’s arms, Bruce gently kisses his earlobe and whispers.

“You’re my _only_ son, Dick. Always. Just you and me.”

_Just you and me._

Dick falls asleep with a smile on his face, while Bruce's tears fall into the dark.


End file.
